


The Lighthouse

by flameandsword



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Zukka Week, Zukka Week 2021, moominvalley vibes, no beta we die like jet, or do you nuzzle into your bro's neck at night, personal heater zuko TM, they're not together (yet) but definitely totally head over heels for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 22:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flameandsword/pseuds/flameandsword
Summary: For Day 6 of Zukka Week 2021: Chronic Pain // Hurt-ComfortThe Gaang discover an abandoned lighthouse and decide to spend the night.The climate isn't really cooperating with Sokka's leg. Zuko can't bear to see him suffer.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 115





	The Lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Zukka Week!

Above the fire lord a million stars are shining like distant flickering candles. The vast endlessness of the night sky makes him feel indescribably small.

The boat softly sways beneath Zuko as if the waves are trying to cradle him and his friends into sleep.  
He hears Toph yawn softly and feels Katara shift her weight next to him. Zuko turns to find her resting her head on her arms, leaning onto the railing and gazing at the stars above in awe. Aang is on his back, hanging half out of the boat, carelessly letting his fingers glide through the water.

Zuko smiles softly. Regardless of all the horror they have seen in the hundred-year-war, his friends still are determinedly in love with the world, and for that he loves them fiercely. 

The air is cold and moist and Zuko's scar is prickling, the salty breeze tautening the edges of the damaged skin on his face. Still, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now; the easy quiet shared between the five of them, the silver starlight turning the ocean into an iridescent mirror and illuminating the bright blue of Sokka's eyes, make the pain worth it.

Sokka, who has been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few hours. 

Zuko's best friend is sitting somewhat stiffly across from him, blankly staring into the night. Not at the constellations above them, but into the blackness ahead of them that their boat is slowly sliding along into. 

Usually Sokka would have been pointing out celestial patterns, naming the constellations and showing them to Zuko, telling him about ridiculous lore, the goofy stories he made up for the "star people".  
Tonight he hasn't pointed up at a single one. Instead he sits there, face turned towards the night, away from Zuko. Zuko wishes he would look at him.

The fire lord doesn't know if the others are too drowsy to notice something's off about Sokka, but he himself is certain something isn't right. The cold light of the moon casts shadows on his friend's face; he looks foreign, far away. Sokka's always been good at hiding his troubles, but Zuko can see right through him. 

After all this time Zuko still struggles with how to reach out to his friend sometimes; never having been good with words, worse at approaching people. He doesn't have much time to consider because a breath later Sokka squints and leans over the edge of the boat.

“What's that?”, he asks, voice sharp with attention, and Zuko's eyes struggle to follow Sokka's line of sight in the dark.

It takes him a while but then he sees it too; the outline of a slender tower, half hidden by somber mist.

“Looks like a lighthouse”, Zuko guesses, voice gruff from not speaking for so long, “We must be close to shore”

“A lighthouse?”, Sokka asks curiously and Zuko realizes that outside of the Fire Nation they must be fairly uncommon. 

The earth kingdom doesn't put a lot of emphasis on fishing in general, preferring steady ground under their feet. The Southern Water Tribe doesn't hunt nor travel at night, the cold climate rendering it impossible. Only the Fire Nation with their strong naval power, their countless years conquering and trading and fighting on sea, would need help to be guided to foreign shores at night.

“Basically just a really tall tower that harbors a very bright light to prevent ships from crashing into the shore in the dark, and help them find the way to land”, Zuko explains.

Sokka nods in understanding. “Then why is it not lit?”

Zuko's chance to make a guess gets taken from him by a sleepy Toph, murmuring “What's going on?”

He feels Katara beginning to stir as well; when he looks up Aang has already leaped up into a crouch and is hovering on the bench he had been stretched out on, gripping his staff for balance and staring at the blurry outline of the lighthouse ahead of them. 

“I suppose we could pay a visit and perhaps we'll find out“, the airbender proposes.

“I don't know” Katara says, pulling a woolen blanket tighter around her shoulders, “What if somebody lives there? What if the whole thing is dilapidated? We don't know if it's safe”

“Come on sugar queen, aren't you tired?”, Toph groans, “We could get some proper sleep in there. In a house that stands on actual proper ground and doesn't wiggle around all the time”

Zuko has been fairly enjoying himself in their small boat, but not gonna lie, sleeping in an actual bed sounds wonderful right now- his shoulders and back would certainly appreciate it. 

They've started their journey about a week ago and have been spending their last few nights cramped together and crumpled up on the boat's hard benches. 

It has been almost a year since Zuko last had more than a few days off, so when the re-evaluation of the fire nation's infrastructure had reached the question of which sea-routes need consolidation, Ambassador Sokka had the brilliant idea to propose the fire lord needed to asses this himself, take a look at it in person, and of course he would need companions to help him judge the matter from neutral, differing perspectives. 

It would be just like old times, Sokka promised, blue eyes full of boyish eagerness. Just the five of them and the journey ahead. 

At first Zuko tried to protest. But he can never deny Sokka anything. 

No-one in the whole palace believed their ridiculous excuse, but in truth, the majority of the staff really just wanted Zuko to take a break. Everyone knows he is always overworking himself and not sleeping enough. He hadn't noticed the guards worried glances, but Sokka, always observant, did. 

Toph let her second-in-command take over her metalbending-academy for the time being and Katara and Aang got to the palace as soon as they could, all of them eager for a break from their responsibilities and duties and in desperate need for a little space to breathe.  
Nobody said anything, let alone frowned, when they left for their little trip; instead the personnel just told them to have fun. 

They left Appa behind, because not at least taking a boat on their “sea-roads-assessment-tour” would have caused Zuko to have a nervous breakdown out of guilt for neglecting his responsibilities.  
If they're on a boat, he can at least pretend they really are on a business trip.

The fact that the whole expedition had been Sokka's idea and knowing how excited he had been is what makes Zuko even more worried about what has been bothering his best friend; what has been turning him so muted and lifeless.

“Everyone who thinks we should check out the lighthouse raise their hand”, Toph exclaims and sticks her palm in the air.

Aang raises his hand instantly, and so does Sokka. Zuko, unsure, decides to agree with Sokka, because that's what he always does when he's uncertain; whether in a council meeting or in private matters.

Katara, outnumbered, sighs and carefully bends the water to push the boat forward into the direction of the shore. 

It's hard to see anything at all in the dark, but Zuko lights a small flame in his hand and as they get closer they begin to be able to make out small cliffs and an uninviting stony beach. The tall rocks look like wrathful spirits in the dark.

They bump into a mound of sand and without needing instruction, Toph raises the ground, creating a path of mud so they can walk onto the shore without having to swim.  
They throw out the anchor, happy to abandon the boat after all and jump onto the newly formed dirt bridge, Aang excitedly bouncing ahead. 

They begin wading through the slush and Zuko can feel his shoes sinking in. He swallows the curses bubbling up in his throat, thinking of how messy they're all going to look when reaching the lighthouse- what a wonderful first impression they will make on the lighthouse keeper, assuming there is one.  
Zuko hopes so. Somehow the thought of the tower being abandoned, lonesome and forlorn out here with no-one taking care of it, makes him sad.

Behind him, he hears Sokka's breath quicken, fighting the mud. He can hear the wet dirt sink back down every time Sokka pulls his feet out of it to take a step. There's a long, weary inhale every time he does.

Zuko should have guessed sooner.

When they reach the lighthouse none of them is sure what to do; so they linger in front of the moldy door for a while.  
Then Aang knocks eventually. They wait. Wait, for what seems like an eternity. Nobody answers.

“Do you think...”, Aang trails off and lightly uses his staff to push against the door, which immediately gives away without resistance, but a terrifying creak. 

Zuko shoots Sokka, who's brows are furrowed skeptically, an uncertain glance. When has the door last been opened? Was the lighthouse abandoned after the war ended? 

Aang hesitantly takes a step forward, only to be grabbed, by the red piece of fabric that's slung over his shoulder, by Katara. 

“You want to just go in?”, she questions, brows raised.

“I think it's empty”, Aang shrugs, “What could happen?”

He shrugs her off and advances, stepping into the pitch black building.

“Here goes nothing”, Toph agrees, following him. Katara shakes her head but follows. 

“After you”, Sokka tells Zuko, gesturing for him to go first, but Zuko doesn't move.

“You okay?”, he asks instead. 

Sokka, holding onto the door frame, blinks. “Of course”, he says. 

But Zuko notices the way he keeps all his weight on his right side, how he's leaning against the door to support himself. Zuko knows Sokka doesn't like people asking about his leg. 

He knows Sokka gets defensive and quiet when it bothers him, when it hurts and throbs and there seems to be nothing to ease the pain. 

Zuko knows it takes Sokka back to the war, to that fateful day on the airship- he told Zuko as much. Told him it makes him think of when he was falling and Toph was slipping and his body wasn't strong enough to hold onto her, not strong enough to put his leg back together afterwards either. The capricious limp would always be a reminder that no matter how hard Sokka tried, there would never be a way for him to keep all he holds dear save. 

Sokka thinks this makes him weak. Zuko thinks it makes him the bravest person he'll ever know. Zuko thinks, this proves that Sokka possess the most precious, beautiful and pure heart.

“Come”, Zuko says, holding his hand out to Sokka. 

When the other boy takes it, he intertwines their fingers. Understanding passes between them like a soft wave. Sokka's indigo eyes find his, flashing with gratitude. 

The door falls shut behind them and the floorboards creak as if the house is moaning in protest, announcing their entrance to the others. 

The only source of light is a small, flickering flame Aang has lit in his palm in an attempt to get a proper look at what seems to be some sort of lounge or rather large living room. There's a round table in the center covered by an askew tablecloth and spiderfly-webs and cornered by half-rotten wooden chairs, from which one of them has toppled over. Katara bows down to pick it up.  
Rusty pots are piled up on a small kitchen isle. Other than that, the room is empty. 

“I wonder what happened to the keeper”, Katara mutters. Her voice is barely more than a whisper but it still echoes through the bare space.

“Something horrible, I bet”, Toph deadpans. The hairs on Zuko's arms stand up and he wonders if Sokka can tell, holding onto his hand still. 

“I'm going upstairs”, Aang declares and immediately chases up the spiral staircase, taking three steps at once with the help of little gusts of air that he uses to push himself up and forward. As usual, the Avatar seems to be wholly immune to caution. 

Katara and Toph hesitantly follow, Aang's thoroughgoing confidence something to hold onto. Toph is gripping the rusty rail tightly. Katara, careful and disoriented, alert by the poor state of the staircase, soon disappears- the last Zuko sees of her is her dark mane. 

Sokka makes no indication of wanting to go after them. Instead he has settled into a perturbed silence again, the quiet wrapped around him like a shroud; amplified by the deserted room. 

Zuko's heart is heavy and there's an ache in his stomach, seeing Sokka like that, like hunger or despair.

“Do you not want to go see the beacon?”, Zuko asks softly, “It's a giant oil lamp, the way it's constructed is really interesting, actually, I think you'd like it. Though I suspect there might not be any oil-”

“That's okay”, Sokka interrupts, ramming a wedge in front of Zuko's zealous surge of words, “I'm not really interested”, his eyes are restless, “Actually, I think I'm just gonna sit down for a while” 

At last, he lets go of Zuko's hand. Zuko's fingers close around the empty space; searching. 

Sokka drops down onto one of the lonesome wooden chairs and Zuko's relieved when it doesn't break away beneath him. A few hairs have slipped forward to hang over Sokka's eyes as he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs. He exhales, eyes closed. 

Zuko stares, uncertain. Stares at Sokka, limp in the chair. Takes in the feeble curve of his neck, his disheveled tied-back hair. The lighthouse is so close to the sea Zuko can still faintly taste the salt in the air. 

“Please don't just stare at me”, Sokka snaps, and for a moment Zuko feels awkward, clumsy. He doesn't know how to react to anger, not when it comes from Sokka. And it isn't anger, not really. It's something similar, but not quite, and he knows it's not directed at him. A few years ago he would have just yelled back.

So Zuko quickly swallows the uncertainty and walks over to stand in front of his friend, then crouches down.  
Sokka's eyes snap open, flat, but as blue as ever, with specks in them the color of the sky.  
One arm is resting loosely on his knee, with the other Zuko reaches up to softly seize Sokka's chin with his hand. Carefully, he turns Sokka's face to his own. The other boy doesn't resist. He appears to be waiting.

“Tell me”, Zuko says. 

He can feel Sokka swallow where his wrist grazes his throat. 

“I'm sorry”, Sokka says, his voice is tight and bitter.

“What for?”, Zuko breathes, puzzled. 

“I'm ruining everything”, Sokka states blankly, “I wanted this trip to be fun. I wanted you to have a chance to be careless again, to not have to worry for once. And here you are, worrying again. About me, of all things”

Zuko exhales, letting go of Sokka's face, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair Sokka has dissolved into, to not loose balance. Surprisingly Sokka hasn't dropped his gaze, regretfully returning Zuko's look, repentance tugging the corners of his mouth downwards.

“Sokka”, Zuko says, “No”

“No?"

“No” 

Sokka gapes at him, leaning back against the back of the chair. “What do you mean, no?”

Zuko stands up, looking down at the confused boy in front of him. “I won't let you turn this trip into a negligence, because it's not. This is the happiest I've been in months. You can't think straight, because you're angry. You're allowed to grief that you're never going to be rid of the memories and the pain, but you're not allowed to make yourself small. You're not going to drown yourself in self-pity”, his voice is calm, “I won't let you”

“I don't know how to stop”

A shout rattles the tension, Aang yelling their names from upstairs.

“You don't have to, not yet. You have time. We'll figure it out”

Aang calls for them again, and they know if they don't go to him soon, he'll come down and make them, somehow, in his nonthreatening but indomitable way. 

Zuko knows Sokka is terrified to be seen like this, so he holds out his hand again; offering support. Sokka grabs it, quietly exhaling in pain as he stands, shifting until his shoulder is aligned with Zuko's, torso pressed up against his side.  
Zuko draws Sokka's arm around his own shoulder, trying to be as much of a brace as he can.  
Their steps are arrhythmical, dump thuds on the brittle floorboards. In their own time they make it to the staircase. 

“Will you be fine?”

“As long as I don't bend it too much”

Sokka slips away from under Zuko's expedient embrace, holding so tightly onto the railing that his knuckles turn pale, and inelegantly pulling himself up stair after stair.  
Zuko's right behind him, watching carefully in case Sokka might slip, to catch him should he need to. But Sokka, fueled by new determination and his stubborness and a whole night's pent-up frustration, makes it up all the way, all on his own, without halting once. Like the fighter he is. 

When Zuko's head pops up through the narrow hatch he is greeted by Toph, Katara and Aang, assembled around the giant old lamp in the center of the tower's attic. Katara and Aang are gaping up at it, Toph is running one short, pale finger over the glas of the enormous bulb. 

Sokka, close enough for Zuko to smell his skin, is holding his breath to hide his panting. 

“Is it broken?”, Aang asks, looking at Sokka and Zuko expectantly, “There's still oil in it but it won't light”

“I don't know”, Zuko says, stubbornly trying to direct the other's attention away from Sokka, but Aang is looking at him with determination as soon as Zuko has finished speaking. 

“Maybe it's just too filthy. Look at all the soot”, Sokka vaguely gestures at the frame of the lamp, slick and shiny with oil and grime.

A cheeky grin appears on Aang's face, and Zuko realizes what he's going to do the second he yells: “Hold your breath!”

The young monk jumps in the air, twirling his staff over his head and summoning a strong gust of wind that infiltrates the casing of the lamp and forcefully blows away all the dirt and dust. He's aiming to send it out the broad window facing the sea, but it still leaves them coughing and shuddering.

“Give us two seconds to react before you try to make us choke, you oaf!”, Toph grouses, angrily trying to shake out her shirt and wiping the filth from her eyelids and cheeks. 

“Sorry”, Aang laughs and has a flame in his hand again, carefully directing it towards the oil, pushing and trying to ignite a merciful spark that doesn't come. “Whyyy”, he complains, “A lighthouse without a light is just sad”

“Come on, Aang, you've tried. Can we get some sleep now?”, Katara asks hopefully in the soft voice she uses when she wants to make Aang do as she says.

“Can't you fix it, Sokka?”, Aang turns toward him, pouting.

Zuko looks at Sokka, who has moved a few inches away from him during the dirt-assault. He is now leaning against the wall, eyes unreadable, the inner workings of his mind hidden under a stoic mask as solid as marble. Every other day, Sokka'd be beaming at the challenge of fixing this thing, getting to put his wonderful brain to use, the only one of them capable to make it work again. But today isn't every other today and Sokka looks right through them all. 

“Not everything can be fixed”, he says.

They sleep downstairs. 

Zuko suggested to stay up in the tower; proposing they make camp up there where the air is not as salty, the ocean further away, as they all have had enough of it. 

Really he just didn't want Sokka to have to face the steep, twirling stairs again. But the others refused, arguing the tower is too small for all of them. None of them would even consider sleeping sperated. 

Zuko's tried to catch his best friend's eye the whole night, but Sokka didn't look at him once.  
Zuko wonders if Sokka's mad at him, thinks he's pitying him. He isn't. He's just trying to make it easier for him. Sokka can handle a lot, but he doesn't have to carry it all, all the time.

It's darker in the circular room, the ceiling hiding them away from the stars.  
It feels weird lying under a roof after a week outdoors on the boat, too steady.  
It makes Zuko feel like he felt the first few weeks in the palace, after the war, alone in a too-big royal chamber, the room too red and too quiet without the others curled up near him, with the absence of their breathing he had learned to rely on to lure him into sleep.  
They were all so used to each other. Zuko had to learn how to be alone with himself again.

It's still comforting now; the familiar pattern of Sokka's breath. 

He would always lie next to him, every night, throughout all those weeks (Zuko suspects it started because in the beginning he didn't trust him, and wanted to make sure he would be there quickly, if he needed to protect the others from Zuko murdering them in their sleep; and then, when things changed, that's just how they were).

It's familiar, Sokka tossing and turning, always making noises, even in his sleep. Zuko knows all the little sounds Sokka makes then, knows which way he'll turn when he's having an especially vivid dream.  
Zuko also knows, that sometimes, after a hard day, after lots of fighting and hurt and horror, Sokka would tremble. Zuko wanted to touch him then, to comfort him, to reach for him and even out the harsh lines of worry between Sokka's brows, smooth the soft brown skin with his thumb. He never did. Never dared. He knew his place. Knew that his face looked like the face of the enemy to them all still sometimes.

But things are different now, years have passed and Zuko is leading a nation, and he does it well. He knows who he is, and Sokka knows him too.

So tonight, when Sokka is shivering in the mild summer night, Zuko goes to him. 

He shuffles over, quietly, so as not to wake the others, closing the little space between them.

He throws the thin woolen blanket over both of their heads, so that they are covered completely; hidden, together under a warm bubble beneath the cloth. 

“Hello”, he whispers, knowing very well Sokka is awake, even though he's been pretending he isn't. He doesn't ever lay so still when he is asleep. 

Sokka knows Zuko, but Zuko also knows Sokka. He knows when he needs space, and he knows that right now, he doesn't. 

Sokka is still wrapped in his own blanket, the fabric separating their bodies, but their noses are almost touching.  
Nobody else Zuko could ever be so bold with, so physical. Sokka he doesn't have to prove his worth to, didn't have to for a long time. With him he isn't scared of being rejected, but happy to offer of himself whatever it is that Sokka needs to take.

“Hi”, Sokka replies faintly, exhaling warm air into Zuko's face.

“What can I do?”

Sokka smells like snow and the ocean and something indescribable, entirely his own. 

It's too dark to be sure, Zuko can barely make out the lines of Sokka's face, just guess at the prominent line of his jaw and the outline of the round tip of his nose, but he thinks he sees him biting his lip.

“You.. you could, just. Warmth”, a pause, “It helps. But. You don't have to”

“I want to”

“Okay”

Zuko reaches out and softly places a hand on the side of Sokka's knee. Wraps it around the joint, softly, cautiously, presses his thumb into where it bends.  
Carefully he takes a breath, focusing on the heat running through his veins, collecting the faintest gasp of it in his palm. Then he lets it flow, lets the warmth seek into Sokka's skin.

Sokka sighs and it's the smallest sound to have ever come out of him but to Zuko it is the biggest reward and the greatest gift. All the pomp in the palace pales compared to it.

“Is this okay?”, Zuko asks.

Some of the tension falls out of Sokka then, his neck relaxing and his forehead falling forward, coming to rest against Zuko's.

“Very okay”

Zuko never has been one to talk much, which is why the two of them complement each other so perfectly. Usually, Sokka fills the space Zuko struggles to occupy, empathy hidden beneath layers of smart chatter and writty jokes. Tonight, he doesn't say anything, too sunken into his own mind to do so.  
So they don't talk, they just are, and it's different but it's fine. It's nice. To just exist together. Giving and receiving because they want to. It's okay that Zuko's not good with words. He's still enough. 

“Sometimes I wonder”, Zuko whispers eventually, “why you don't tell Katara. We all know what a great healer she is. Why don't you let her help?”

Sometime Sokka's head had dropped down to rest in the curve of Zuko's neck. There's something spreading in Zuko's chest. Slowly, deeply. Almost like fear.  
He can feel the movement of Sokka's cheek when he replies.

“I did. It won't help. She tried”, Sokka nuzzles his nose into Zuko's skin. It tickles.  
“I think it's because it's not an injury, per say, not anymore. You know how she can't heal scars either, not normally. I suppose that's similar in nature. It… goes too deep”

Zuko replaces his hand with his leg, pressing it up against Sokka's to not disrupt the steady flow of warmth.  
He places his freed hand on Sokka's hair and softly runs his fingers through it, cradling the back of Sokka's head with his palm.

Sokka exhales. “Sometimes I wonder if it's all just in my head”

Zuko can feel the dent Sokka's leather hair tie left behind. He lightly grazes his nails over Sokka's scalp. Sokka hums in contentment, almost purring at the leftover heat oozing from Zuko's fingertips.

“That doesn't make it any less real”, Zuko says.

They fall asleep like that; tangled in one another, intertwined hands and legs and mingled breaths.

The world is shaking. An earthquake? No.  
Zuko's eyes snap open and Sokka' hovering over him.  
It takes a moment for Zuko to know him, then he realizes Sokka is rattling his shoulder to wake him.

Zuko panics. “What's wrong? Where does it hurt?”

The smile Sokka gives him is like the sun. “I'm fine.”

“Then, what's-”

“Shh!”, Sokka whisper-yells, “Don't wake the others. I was thinking I want to see the beacon light up. What do you think?”

After all, his spark has returned. Zuko feels so relieved he has to just lie there and stare up at Sokka for a solid five seconds.

He is still drowsy with sleep, limbs stiff and his throat dry. Behind him he hears Toph snoring softly and somebody else stir. It's early, not yet dawn. 

“Alright”

The way up to the tower is a lot faster this time. 

In a moment they stand in front of the bulb. It takes Sokka a heartbeat to find the tools he needs in some dusty cupboards in the back, and the quarter of an hour to declare: “That should do it”

He stands straight, hands on his hips, shirt smeared with black oil, grinning at his work first and then at Zuko. “If you please?”

Zuko directs a small flame towards the oil, urging it to respond the same way Aang had before.  
This time it works, and the beacon lights up and shines, too bright for their tired eyes, painting Sokka's skin golden and dancing over his smooth, dark hair. 

Zuko's heart beats as fast as a flutter-bat. “Do you want to wake the others? To show them?”, he asks and swallows.

Sokka smiles again, softer this time, in that lovely way he only does for Zuko. Behind them the sun is beginning to rise, tainting the sky a pale pink. 

“No”, he says, and even though the pain in his leg has dulled to a faint twinge and he doesn't need anyone to lean on anymore, he takes Zuko's hand and pulls him closer so their shoulders touch and their arms are pressed together. “Not yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is so much amazing art that has been created throughout this week and I'm super happy I managed to participate. Decided to combine both prompts for today because the edges blurr anyways.  
> I wrote this in two sittings in the middle of exam season, but here goes nothing. Was really nice to get to not think about uni while writing this :))
> 
> This little drabble is actually inspired by Ep. 25 & 26 of Moominvalley, funnily enough. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this and feel free to tell me anything in the comments or on tumblr @betrothedzukka :)


End file.
